Bruised
by RandomKiwi
Summary: "Tonight, Fairy. Tonight's your lucky night." Kurt Elizabeth Hummel was killed the night of his high school graduation. It is rumored that his spirit still haunts the halls of McKinley High. A new transfer from Dalton, Blaine Anderson, finds that he can communicate with the deceased boy. Angst, angst, and more angst with some romance sprinkled about. AU.
1. Prologue

**AN: Oh my gosh, I am *so* sorry about the lack of production this summer! Remember way back in June when I promised steady updates and such...? Just totally thrown out the window. Things got hectic in show choir and theater. I also went through a hard period of time when I lost three people very dear to me. It's been tough, but I refuse to back down. I'm a fighter, which is why I sucked it up and picked up my notebook full of new fics and decided to upload them. School is starting next week, so I may or may not be able to update as much as months past. Just a bit about this piece... I was inspired by the general issue of homophobia, which is also brought up on 'Glee' a lot. I was roleplaying on Omegle and I spontaneously just came up with this prompt. It went well, so I decided to take my prompt and make it into my own piece of fanfiction. This will be a longer piece. I don't have a definite end in sight, so hang in there. As always, reviews are appreciated! Also, if you're reading this and wondering why the hell I haven't updated 'Candles' in forever: same reasons as stated above. I should be updating that pretty soon with a few chapters to make up for the extended period of time that I left you guys hanging. So, without further ado, here's 'Bruised'!**

**~ RandomKiwi**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY CHARACTERS, PLACES, OR NAMES AFFILIATED WITH 'GLEE'. THEY ARE THE SOLE PROPERTY OF RIB. (Sadly. .3.)**

* * *

Kurt Hummel had lived a relatively short life. He'd passed away at the young age of eighteen the night of his high school graduation. He'd arrived at a graduation party looking his absolute best, per usual, but ended the night at the polar opposite of the spectrum. He didn't have a safe, sober drive home at his curfew, one in the morning. Oh, no, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel didn't follow the set of strict rules his father had set on that fateful night in June. He didn't pick up his phone when Burt had called him multiple times, only to be sent directly to voice mail after a long period of dial tones. He neglected to answer his friends' constant and frantic texts. At the scene of his death, his phone was found in the pocket of his skin tight jeans, beeping with over thirty unread messages.

_Kurt, where are you? You're missing the fun! – Rach_

_Ladyface, don't tell me you're sulking in the corner like you did at Quinn's last party. Live a little. Get drunk. You only have one liver. – Satan_

_Hey there, White Boy. Did you come to the party? I didn't see you. Text back soon, m'kay? – 'Cedes_

_Kurt, Burt's worried. Please call him. – Finn_

_Kurt! Where are you!? Hellooo? – Britt :D 3_

_Dude, you're missing it. We're playing a giant game of spin the bottle. Pretty steamy. ;) – Puck_

_KUUUUUUUURRRT. ANSWER YOUR PHONE! – Rach_

_Okay, Kurtie Pie. This is it. Where the hell are you? You're missing your own graduation party. You only get one of those. Get your skinny little ass in here. – Satan_

_KURT. GET IN HERE. ANSWER. DO SOMETHING. – 'Cedes_

_I WANT MY DOLPHIN! D': - Britt :D 3_

_Kurt, where are you? It's past curfew and I've tried calling multiple times. Call me as soon as you get this, son. You're in huge trouble when you get home. - Dad_

Of course, this was an act that many teenagers would commit at some point out of pure rebelliousness and desire to 'live a little.' Yes, many of the former McKinley High students attending the party did in fact carry out these actions for those very reasons, but Kurt Elizabeth Hummel…

Well, he wasn't one of them.


	2. Chapter 1

**AN: This chapter is a flashback that brings you back to the party. Just FYI, I'll be utilizing flashbacks and memories periodically throughout the story. They might share a chapter with other content, or get one all to themselves. It all depends on how it weaves itself into the story and the length. I'm sorry... So, so sorry that I have to torture you. This chapter practically killed me to write. Please don't hate me for this. Review, review, review! :) They make writers like me very happy.**

**~ RandomKiwi**

* * *

_June 9, 2012_

_The night was young and lively as Kurt arrived at Quinn Fabray's house. His hair was perfectly coiffed; not a single strand of his chestnut locks was out of place. He wore sinfully tight skinny jeans, designer boots, and a fitted white shirt. A stylish scarf was wrapped easily around his neck._

_Quinn smiled and beckoned him inside. The whole of the 2012 senior class was inside, either drunk or incredibly close to it. Kurt took in the scene through cautious glasz eyes, edging around slurring, laughing, and stumbling classmates. He found Rachel on one of the couches, blinking as she practically tried to swallow Finn's face as she kissed him. _

_Kurt made a face, but decided to let it go, walking back out to the main room the way he'd come. He pushed away red plastic cups filled with alcohol that were shoved his way, sending the warm liquid splashing. He shook his head, forcing a smile. These days, there wasn't a smile on his face that wasn't feigned. He had no place at this party, and that was no new concept for the pale skinned boy to grasp. Sure, he had friends, but they had their own things to do. They couldn't be bothered with Kurt, the only one of the group that didn't have a significant other to run off with._

_He slipped out the back door and sat on the steps, thankful for the silence. He already had a headache, and he'd only been here for no more than ten minutes. He just wasn't one for the party scene. He'd prefer a nice evening date with his piano over this any day._

_Kurt couldn't recall why he'd bothered coming; maybe the thought of a final hurrah would help him put the bullying and hate to rest. That maybe, just maybe, he could leave Lima knowing that his aggressors regretted their actions. It was a stupid notion, really, to think that something so outlandish would happen. Happy endings didn't exist. Reality just didn't work that way._

_The screen door swung open and shut behind him with a soft thwack. Kurt sighed, not bothering to turn around to see who it was. It was probably someone who wouldn't give him the time of day, anyway. A few moments of perfect silence followed as the person just stood behind him, a bit too close for Kurt's liking. He could hear their short, raspy breaths and feel their eyes practically staring holes into the back of his head._

"_I'm sorry, if it's that much of an issue, I'll move," he sat bitterly, his eyes narrowing as he continued to stare out at the back yard._

_He could feel their hot breath on his skin and he shuddered. A hand gripped his shoulder, causing just the slightest amount of pain there. Kurt's back and shoulders had been littered with bruises for as long as he could remember. He couldn't recall a day when the bullying didn't happen… The bruises had always been there, like permanent tattoos. _

"_No," a deep voice bellowed from just behind his ear. It was familiar, too familiar, and it chilled Kurt to the bone. "You're not going anywhere, faggot." _

_In this moment, Kurt's heart lurched, his eyes blowing wide. Karofsky… How could he not see this coming? He tore himself from the boy's tightening grip and stumbled down the rest of the steps. He'd been told to stand up for himself, to stop running away from his fears… But somehow, whenever he'd chosen to do so, he ended up in worse condition than if he'd just taken the beating. He flew across the lawn, his slender frame moving swiftly and considerably quicker than the burly boy who chased after him. Kurt tore through the woods, branches and leaves clawing at his clothing and slicing at his skin. He could just barely hear the pulse of the party music over the loud and erratic beating of his heart. Tonight, he would get him. There was no way around it… Tonight, Kurt knew… He just knew Karofsky would win._

_Fear coursed wildly through his veins as he pressed forward, his aggressor slowly gaining on him. Kurt's breath came in short, ragged gasps as he ran, his feet tangling in the tree roots and leaves. He tripped, falling to the ground in a small heap. He clawed at the dirt, trying to pull himself up from the earth. Karofsky laughed as he reached the helpless boy. He pushed Kurt back to the ground with his foot, pinning him against the dirt. Kurt whimpered, slamming into the soil once more. He could hear Karofsky's slurred voice over the panicked ringing in his ears._

"_Tonight, Fairy. Tonight's your lucky night." He shut his eyes tightly, a quiet sob escaping his throat. No… This couldn't happen. This __**couldn't**_ _happen… He had New York waiting for him. His NYADA acceptance letter was still sitting on his bed, the words, 'Welcome to the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts, Mr. Hummel!' highlighted in bright orange._

"_Please, please, please," he murmured, tears streaming down his porcelain cheeks. Karofsky smirked, nudging the boy below him roughly with the toe of his sneaker. "Don't touch me," he whimpered. All that came out was a strangled sob._

_Karofsky smiled bitterly. This plan was foolproof. No matter how loud Kurt screamed, the loud bass of the party music would drown it out. No one had noticed Kurt leave, so they wouldn't be asking any questions. His eyes gleamed, a sinister light seeking residence in them. Of course he prided himself… This was an easy win. Who wouldn't be proud?_

"_What? I didn't hear you," he hissed, kicking at Kurt's ribs. His grin grew when he felt them give under the pressure. Kurt gasped, his breathing becoming labored. Each breath hurt to no end and he grimaced, feeling the warm blood soak through his white shirt. A part of him couldn't help but think about what a shame it was that he'd chosen to wear white. The agonizing pain snapped him back into reality. He could feel his lungs sputtering, struggling to take in air. He flinched after each gasp, a sharp pain rising in his chest after each and every one._

"_P-please," he pleaded, his voice breathy and weak. His mind flashed to memories of his mother, his father, and his friends. Tears continued to pool in his pained glass eyes and spill over in large, wet rivers. He could feel himself slipping, falling, losing touch with himself._

_Karofsky knelt down in front of Kurt so the dying boy could see his face. His eyes glowed with satisfaction and triumph as he stared into Kurt's, a smirk playing itself across his lips. "You're welcome," he whispered maliciously. "You're so, so welcome."_


	3. Chapter 2

**AN: I am SO sorry for the delay. School has been going full swing and I've had absolutely no time to upload things. High school is *crazy* busy! I write everything out in notebooks, so you can imagine how long it takes to get all of it into my computer. I have a few updates that should be up within the next week. There's no school on Wednesday, so I'm planning to churn out some progress then. I'm _so_ sorry for making you wait so long. Please keep this on your Alert list, I will definitely be updating it more frequently in the future. Here's chapter two! I hope you enjoy it; I really have fun writing this fic. That might be morbid, but it's true. Some news: I have a Tumblr. I'm still figuring out how to upload fics onto it though. If you ever want to contact me, you can PM me on here or message me at the following URL: .com. Thanks for reading, guys! Review, please? I'd love some feedback, as well as what you guys would like to see later on in this fic.**

**~ RandomKiwi  
**

* * *

Rumor had it that since June 9, 2012, Kurt Hummel's ghost haunted the halls of McKinley High. Of course, many new students just brushed it off as a silly legend when they were informed of it. Others, however, believed that Kurt really did dwell in the vacant areas of his old high school. Blaine Anderson, a new transfer from Dalton Academy, was well informed of Kurt's story and ultimately, his tragic death. He couldn't help but be angered, knowing that anyone could have easily prevented his passing. It was pointless ignorance and hatred that had ended Kurt's life, and if any of his "friends" truly had cared for him, they would have stayed with the boy at the party on the night he was killed. What enraged Blaine even further was that Kurt was murdered for the very same reason Blaine found himself being bullied and scrutinized for… being gay.

As Blaine made his way through the empty hallway, a chill ran down his spine. He paid no mind to it, dismissing it as he wrapped his arms around himself. His father had dropped him off for school an hour early. He claimed it was because he had to be to work for a meeting, but Blaine knew his father had the day off. He'd grown to question his father's petty excuses. Ever since he'd come out of the closer when he was fourteen, his parents had started distancing themselves from their son. It had started out small with a gradual increase in their amount of business trips and work demands but hell, after a few months they couldn't even look their son in the eye without feeling the utmost amount of shame and the painful reality that this… This _thing…_ was their _son_.

Before Dalton, Blaine had suffered from an intense amount of bullying at Westerville High. He was constantly taunted, teased, and physically assaulted for being, well, himself. His parents had made the decision to send him off to Dalton Academy For Boys in hopes that it would rebuild his characters and, according to his father, "straighten him out; pun intended."

After two years of being the lead soloist of the school's Glee club, The Warblers, his parents had withdrawn him from the school in the middle of his senior year. Blaine had thrived at Dalton, where he was accepted for who he was; gay and all. His father was severely infuriated by this; the thought of the school encouraging his son to be one of _them_ sickened him to no end. He resolved to send Blaine to public school once more. His son didn't deserve an environment like Dalton if he chose to be a sinner, to be a queer.

Since transferring from Dalton and moving back home, his father had become borderline abusive. He would snap at his son, occasionally punching or hitting him if the occasion called for such. In Mr. Anderson's eyes, Blaine deserved every last bit of it. Blaine knew better than to believe in his father's bitter ways.

The curly haired boy sighed, sinking down to the floor in front of his locker. He hugged his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. He regarded the deserted hallway through wary eyes, setting his messenger bag down to his left. He glanced up, catching a glimpse of white, chestnut brown, and pale blue. He blinked, thinking the illusion to be just a trick of the light. No, the figure was still there. As his eyes focused more, he realized that what stood before him was a beautiful boy. He appeared to be a bit translucent, but Blaine blamed that on his recent lack of sleep.

"Hi," he offered, a friendly smile playing at his lips. It wasn't a genuine smile, no, but it would suffice.

The boy's head snapped up; he was startled by the sudden acknowledgement. He glanced around a bit, wondering if the curly haired boy – who was quite cute, he noted – was talking to him.

Blaine chuckled lightly, the sound containing a hint of happiness and amusement. "Yes, you. There aren't many others to choose from," he gestured about, his honey-hazel eyes shimmering in the daylight that pooled in from the windows.

A soft smile graced the boy's lips. How could he see him? "Oh, hi," he murmured. "I didn't think you could see me." He took a step forward, into the light.

"Why would I not – Oh." As the boy stepped into the light, Blaine realized that he really was translucent. His eyes widened as he took in his beauty. His soft, delicate features had a slight feminine edge, though they were clearly and unmistakably masculine. His glass eyes refracted the light, shimmering brightly. There were subtle flecks of grey and green dispersed throughout the sea of blue.

The translucent boy nodded, looking down. "I'm Kurt Hummel…? You've probably heard a lot about me," he said, his voice just barely above a whisper.

Blaine gazed up at Kurt, his expression sympathetic and gentle. "I'm so sorry, Kurt, for what they did and what you had to go through…" How could someone hurt a person as beautiful as the boy who stood before him? If there was one thing Blaine knew it was that life was cruel and unfair. But this, the way Kurt's was robbed from him, just the face that it was _taken _from him, was absolutely sinister. The fact that someone could possess the audacity and the nerve to purposely and willingly kill another was bad enough. When that person happened to be Kurt Hummel, it became a million times worse.

Kurt bit his lip, his eyes becoming misty with tears. "No… Don't be. It's okay," he whispered, his eyes glued to the floor.

Blaine's heart felt as though it had just been severed. "Kurt, it's _not_ okay," he replied, his voice full of emotion. He stood up, trying to meet his gaze. "What those people did to you was inhuman and cruel and wrong… Just so, _so __**wrong.**_"

Kurt swallowed thickly. "I deserved it," he said simply. The sheer amount of truth in his voice was enough to bring more tears to Blaine's eyes.

"No," he murmured. "No, you didn't. You never did. Don't blame yourself for what they did to you."

"How can I n-not?" Kurt's voice was barely audible as tears began to trail down his porcelain cheeks. His voice cracked as he spoke, conveying the abundance of hurt and pain he had bottled within him for so long.

"You did nothing wrong," Blaine urged, reaching out to hold Kurt's hand instinctively. He was a bit surprised when he felt Kurt's cold fingers in his, opposed to the empty air he was expecting.

Kurt looked down at their hands, then back up at Blaine. He gulped, blinking the tears away. "Y-you never told me your name," he said, trying desperately to change the subject.

"I'm Blaine Anderson," Blaine said gently. "I transferred from Dalton about a week ago." His heart fluttered a bit as he realized that Kurt hadn't let go of his hand. In fact, he'd tightened his grip on Blaine's hand, lacing their fingers together.

"Isn't that where The Warblers are from?" Kurt asked, intrigued. He envisioned Blaine in one of the Dalton uniforms. A light rosy hue dusted his cheeks.

Blaine nodded, a small smile gracing his lips. "That's the place. I was their lead soloist, actually."

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "Wow, lead soloist? That's great. Why'd you transfer?"

Blaine bit his lip, glancing down at their hands. "My, um… My parents." It was obvious that it was a sensitive subject, so Kurt let it slide for now.

"Well, welcome to William McKinley High. It's a nice place, really." His words seemed forced and sarcastic; Blaine picked up on that immediately.

"I take it it's not 'nice' here?" Kurt just squeezed Blaine's hand and shook his head.

"Hey, Poodlehead! Who you talking to?" a voice barked from behind Blaine, causing him to jump. Sue Sylvester just smirked as he did so, cocking an eyebrow at his reaction.

"N-no one, ma'am," Blaine said quickly, immediately letting go of Kurt's hand. Sue struck up conversation with Blaine about her beloved Cheerios as Kurt watched, sawing at his bottom lip with his teeth.

Who was he kidding? Nobody could be his friend; no one would _want_ to be anyway. Not a single person could possibly develop feelings for him as he might towards them. The reasons were perfectly clear. First of all, he was _himself_ and that was utterly repulsive. On top of that, he was dead, completely and irreversibly _dead._ Kurt slinked away, his heart heavy in his chest. This was why he didn't let himself hope.

Hoping only led to heartbreak.


	4. Chapter 3

**AN: Two updates in one night! I'm quite happy. Sadly, this'll be it for tonight. I still have loads and loads of homework to do. Who would know that high school would be so exhausting!? This chapter hurt me to write, personally. Because of not only the fact that Blaine is so young, but just the whole concept of it. I wrote this in the car on my way back from vacation back in August. Yes. All of these updates are WAYY overdue. I'm putting up the third chapter right now, when in reality I've written well past the seventh. I have plans for this one. This chapter is a flashback to when Blaine is fourteen. You can pretty much guess what it'll be about, if you've read the previous chapter. So, without further ado, chapter three! Please, please, please review! It will make my day, and it just might make me upload things faster for you. ;) There's an incentive! Thank you so much for reading, my lovelies!**

**UPDATE AN: I was going through my notebook when I realized I'd truncated part of the chapter off. The first part of the chapter is a flashback, then there is a flashforward to the present. I had to edit and include it, otherwise the next chapter wouldn't make much sense. Chapter 4 is coming out tonight as an early Christmas gift for you all. (You're welcome, Isa. :P) I deeply apologize for the lack of production lately. SCHOOL. IS. A. B*TCH. Mhm. I'm on break now though, so I'll try my absolute hardest to get things up and posted. You can find me on tumblr at: .com. Happy Klaining! :)  
**

**~ RandomKiwi**

* * *

_February 10, 2009_

_"Mom… Dad? I have something I have to tell you," the curly haired teen said quietly, pushing the spaghetti around his plate with his fork. He felt like he was going to be sick. No amount of reading advice columns or practicing in front of the bathroom mirror could prepare him for this moment._

_His father sighed, looking up from his phone. It was a typical recurrence for him to work during family meals. He was always connected to his clients and coworkers, but always disconnected within the family. "Make it quick, Blaine," he said blandly, setting his phone aside._

_Blaine gulped, his hand shaking as he placed the fork down on the table. "I… Um… I'm…" His throat betrayed him, closing shut as he tried to squeak out words. He'd heard about how accepting some – even most – parents were about this. He'd watched many a video that documented people like him coming out of the closet. Surely his parents would understand… They weren't that religious, after all, and they really were nice people once you peeled them away from their work._

_Mrs. Anderson offered her son a reassuring smile. "You're what, honey? Is it a girl?" His parents had been asking him about that a lot recently, what with Valentine's Day quickly approaching. There were some pretty girls at Westerville High, and his father seemed set on the fact that Blaine ask Jillian Marks to the Valentine's Dance. Yes, she was beautiful with blonde hair, pale green eyes, and a slender figure… And yes, Blaine knew that she had a crush on him. But she was too… too feminine for his liking._

_"Did you ask Jillian yet?" his father looked at his son expectantly, as if something would happen if he hadn't._

_Blaine froze, his eyes blowing wide. "No… I'm, um… I'm gay." The room fell silent after those two simple words were spoken. The hush loomed over the family heavily, threatening to crash down on them. After what seemed like centuries, Mr. Anderson finally spoke._

_"No," he stated simply. "You're not." He said this as though it was the only truth, that what he said was how things were going to be. Blaine bit his lip; he suddenly got a feeling that this wasn't the best idea._

_"Yes, I am," he whispered, hesitating before his honey-hazel eyes flickered up to look at his father. Was he really doing this? Fear coursed through his veins; fear and insecurity. It was too late to take it back._

_"No. You're. Not." His father's voice was stern and strict, laced with bitterness. The way he clenched his jaw scared the young boy half to death. Mrs. Anderson sat by, blinking._

_Blaine swallowed thickly, staring down at his plate. He'd barely made a dent in his pasta. "I am," he managed to squeak out. The quietness that lingered just after he spoke lasted for all of two seconds. Mr. Anderson stood up abruptly, his chair falling back and clattering to the floor. He crossed the room to where Blaine was seated, pulling him roughly to his feet by the collar of his shirt._

_"You are not a homosexual. I did **not** raise a **faggot**!" he snarled. Blaine flinched at his bitter use of the 'f' word; he said it so freely, as if the word was no more than an overall label. His father said each word like venom on his lips, staring daggers into Blaine's eyes with his own. Blaine regarded his father through wide, frightened eyes._

_"I am, Dad… I am…" His voice trembled as he spoke. He tried desperately to hold his ground. What he didn't expect was the fist that struck him square in the jaw. The impact was bone rattling; he could hear the smack echo through his head._

_"You're no son of mine," his father spat, shoving Blaine away from him. The boy fell to the ground, looking to his mother. She was supposed to get up and defend him, protect him… Why wasn't she? She was the one person who was supposed to love him unconditionally… Why wasn't she helping him? His mother poked and prodded at her pasta, acting as though nothing had happened, as if her own son hadn't just been abused by her husband._

_Blaine scrambled to his feet, running out of the room. He stumbled up the steps, tripping a few times as he sped to his room. All the while, his father's shouts rang out behind him._

_"No son of mine! – Faggot! – Disgrace! – Fucking **disgrace**!" Fragments of his outbursts drifted up the steps. Blaine practically dove into his room, slamming his door shut as if its hollow wooden frame could shield him from the abhorrence and hatred thrown his way._

_Only when his door was securely closed and locked did he break down in sobs, sinking to the carpeted flooring in a broken, teary heap._

* * *

Blaine nodded and smiled as Sue spoke. In all honesty, he just wanted to sew her mouth shut. All he wanted to do was talk to Kurt. He'd only just met him, but Blaine couldn't help but feel some sort of gravitational pull towards the deceased boy. After what seemed like ages, Coach Sylvester finally stopped bombarding him with questions and cynical comments. She walked away, down the hall, out of sight. As soon as Blaine heard her office door click shut, his eyes began to flicker around the hall frantically.

When he couldn't locate the boy, a certain sense of panic set it. Where was he? Surely he couldn't have vanished completely... Just the thought sent his heart lurching wildly in his chest.

Blaine's train of thought was thrown to the wind as he heard a melody coming from a room down the hall - the choir room. God, that voice... It was angelic, beautiful, gorgeous, and unlike any other Blaine had ever heard. He set off down the hall, soon reaching the doorway where the song was coming from. He stood silently, watching the boy standing in the center of it. His back was turned, but Blaine knew exactly who it was. The song came to a close, and Blaine blinked, his mouth hanging open in the utmost amount of awe.

"Kurt?"


	5. Chapter 4

**AN: Chapter 4 is here, guys! And a very merry Christmas it will be… I have *tons* of this story written, I just haven't found the time to post it yet! Hopefully that will change, due to the fact that I'm on winter break (can I get a hallelujah?) I hope you enjoy! As always, review and give me feedback. :3 Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year! My tumblr is: .com.**

**~ RandomKiwi :3**

* * *

From an early age, Kurt had found singing to be an excellent emotional outlet. It was his one way to escape the clutches of reality and leave his problems behind. By losing himself in a song, he could drown out the dismal misfortunes of his life. The effect didn't last for more than four minutes at a time, but even a few isolated moments of freedom were greatly appreciated.

Instinctively, Kurt had retired to the choir room. During his time at McKinley, it was the one room where he could feel safe; completely and utterly _okay_ with who he was. It was where he sought refuge from the cold brutalities of the world, which was why the ghost found himself there now, standing in the center of the room. He shut his eyes, letting the world around him melt away as he sang the beginning notes of 'Blackbird' by The Beatles.

The notes escaped his lips flawlessly, smooth as silk. His abnormally higher pitched voice – "I'm a countertenor," he'd argue many times – filled the small room as he sang, the melody beautifully bittersweet. The threat of his tears spilling over increased with every word, ever proceeding note in the song. Soon enough, Kurt could feel the salty wetness trailing down his cheeks in large, sorrowful drips.

As he sang the lyrics, events from his past danced across the backs of his eyelids from his mother's illness and passing, coming out, the bullying. It all led up to the party, the party that had cut his life horribly short. He had plans to go to New York, to become a Broadway star… And in just one night, all hopes of every becoming _anything_ but nothing were torn from his grasp.

He finished off the song, the last few notes wavering and faltering a bit due to his tears. Kurt opened his eyes, trying to blink away the remnants of his tears. The silence that enveloped him was a constant reminder that he was alone; always and forever _alone._

"Kurt?" There it was, that charming voice that made his heart melt; the one that shouldn't be giving him these feelings because Blaine was _alive_ and Kurt was… not. He bit his lip, wiping at his eyes, as if that might erase all evidence of his crying. Of course Blaine would see him like this, broken and falling apart.

"What?" he asked quietly, his voice shaking. He refused to face the other; he absolutely _refused_ to torture himself any further. Just as he thought this, he could faintly hear Blaine's footsteps approaching him from behind.

"Kurt… Are you crying?" Blaine's voice was gentle and kind, as if he really did care.

"N-no." Kurt sniffled, wiping at his eyes more. He was lying and he knew the curly haired boy behind him had already caught on.

Blaine took a step closer, reaching out as if to touch Kurt's arm. His fingertips met a light sort of pressure where Kurt's arm would have been. "Don't lie to me," he murmured. "Please. I just want to help."

Kurt flinched at Blaine's touch, surprised he could even feel it; surprised his fingertips didn't pass right through his body like others seemed to do without noticing. He shut his eyes tightly, fighting the sobs that were building up inside of him. "You can't," Kurt whispered, his voice strained and laced with hurt and pain. "You can't help me." The second time, he sounded more quiet, weak, fragile.

"What do you mean?" Blaine asked, stepping around Kurt so he could see his face. He met Kurt's gaze for just a fraction of a moment before the glasz eyes were torn away by their owner.

"I mean you can't help me," Kurt clarified sadly. "There's just no way for anyone to."

"Kurt-" Blaine started, but was cut off.

"Look at me. _Really_ look at me, Blaine. I'm _**dead**_. I'm dead and there's nothing you can do to fix that." Kurt's voice had gained a bit of volume and emotion. His tears had returned once more. "No one can do anything," he said, shaking from the sobs. His eyes flickered down to the ground as he ducked his head, clearly ashamed.

Blaine reached up to cup his chin, tilting it up so he could look into Kurt's captivating glasz eyes. He wiped away a few tears with the pad of his thumb. "You deserve to be happy, Kurt," he murmured. "You really do."

Kurt bit his lip, gazing into Blaine's warm, loving eyes. He said nothing, for his mind betrayed him. He was thinking at a million miles per minute and his mouth wouldn't be able to keep up.

Their faces were mere inches apart and Kurt couldn't help but think about Blaine's lip – those soft, lovely lips – and how kissable they were… Just how easy they would be to kiss in this very moment, right now. He breathed in Blaine's sweet scent, a mixture between his cologne and his raspberry hair gel, which tamed the boy's curls but didn't completely flatten them. Blaine had said he deserved to be happy, and God, did Kurt want to kiss him so badly.

Before Kurt could continue thinking, Blaine reached up, trailing his fingertips across his cheek. His touch was gentle and feather light, causing a shiver to run down Kurt's spine in the best way possible. He leaned into Blaine's touch ever so slightly, his gaze conveying all that was needed. Blaine closed the distance between them until their lips met in a slow, sweet kiss.


	6. Chapter 5

**AN: Look at you guys, getting two chapters in one night. (Possibly three, depending on if I decide to go to the Christmas pageant or not.) I'm quite liking vacation. It's giving me time to work on my original works (posted on figment) and my fanfics. I've been neglecting you guys for so long that it seems only fair that I do everything in my power to post more often. After winter break comes midterms, then CAPTS, and all that fun stuff. I, RandomKiwi, solemnly swear to do everything in the power that has been bestowed upon me as an author to update my fics as often and frequently as life will permit. So, here's chapter 5. This chapter is a short little flashback to Kurt's first day of senior year. I think I'm going to stick to this pattern of doing a flashback about every other chapter. It's working well for me. If you don't like it, please let me know! As always, reviews help me out greatly. My tumblr is: .com. Feel free to ask any questions, give suggestions, or just reprimand me for being late with all of this. :P**

**~ RandomKiwi :3  
**

* * *

_September 14, 2012_

_The beginning of the school year was supposed to be a joyous occasion. Sure, the lazy comforts of summer had been left in the dust, but ultimately, it was the day when friends were reunited after a long hiatus of scorching weather and solitude. Kurt had his friends from Glee club: Rachel, Mercedes, Tina, Brittany, Santana, Mike, Sam, and a few others, but he wasn't particularly close to most of them. Finn was in Glee club as well, but being friendly to Kurt was an obligation, seeing as they were step brothers and all. Aside from Rachel, Mercedes, and Brittany, Kurt didn't talk to most of the club very much._

_When a certain Rachel Berry spotted Kurt worming his way through the crowded halls, she just about tackled him in a tight hug._

"_It's senior year, Kurtsie! Can you believe it? By the end of the year we'll both be accepted into NYAD and be on our way to New York!" she gushed, the grin on her face showing no signs of disappearing any time son. Kurt offered her a smile, hugging her back._

"_It's going to be great." He wasn't happy, but he figured he'd act as though he was for Rachel's sake. He didn't want to ruin her perfect senior year by sulking or admitting that the bullying was going to get considerably worse. He'd been thrown in the dumpster as soon as he'd set foot on campus this morning, ruining his brand new designer, well, everything. Given the fact that Kurt was expecting this, he'd changed into the spare clothing he kept in his bag. _

_Rachel pulled out of the hug, still beaming. "Not great, absolutely __amazing!__" It had gotten to the point where Kurt really just wanted to wipe that silly smile off of her face. Things weren't going to be perfect this year; at least, not for him. "Please tell me you feel it too; the vibe that this year is giving off." She looked at Kurt expectantly, her smile not faltering in the slightest._

"_Um…" Kurt was saved from answering when Mercedes barged in between the two of them to envelop Kurt in a tight hug._

"_There's my white boy!" she exclaimed as soon as she pulled away. "So, how was your summer? Meet any cute guys?" Mercedes winked suggestively, causing Kurt to laugh… just a bit._

"_No, there aren't many other gays in Lima, 'Cedes. I wish, though." Really, he did. Seeing his friends have so much romance made him feel a bit left out of the loop. Yes, he was happy for them, but he couldn't help but wonder why he couldn't have someone to love, or someone to love him. What was he doing so wrong?_

_Mercedes scoffed. "That's total bull, honey, and you know it. You're a total catch; some guy's bound to notice you soon."_

_Kurt just shrugged in response. Rachel had met up with Finn, leaving the two of them to their usual banter about fashion and music. After a few minutes, Sam came over and whisked Mercedes away, leaving Kurt – surprise, surprise – alone. _

_He walked over to his locker, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw it. In bright red spray paint it read, "FAGGOT." The word stood out clear as day against the pale grey-green metal. He choked back tears, just staring at the word. It was the truth, but it stung to see it so boldly displayed for all eyes to see._

_Faggot, faggot, faggot._

_Karofsky clapped Kurt's shoulder, much too hard for Kurt's liking. The slender boy flinched, his vision blurring due to the tears that now filled his eyes to the brim. They threatened to spill over any minute, any second now._

"_Welcome back, fag. This year will be fun, won't it?" Karofsky practically hissed. Before Kurt could even blink, he was shoved against the lockers. The impact rattled his body down to the bone, causing him to clench his teeth. The pain immediately flowered between his shoulder blades; just another bruise to add to the plethora of them that littered his back and shoulders._

_Kurt lay slumped against the lockers, covering his face with his hands as teardrops trailed down his cheeks. They left salty, wet tracks behind. He couldn't let others see; he couldn't risk what would happen if they did._

_Oh, yes, welcome to McKinley High…_

_More like welcome to Hell._


End file.
